Jason spied the ad, as he sat in the clinics waiting room.
"Sorry, Jason,"the receptionist called, "But per our records you can't sell blood for another two days."
"Oh, come on? It's only 2 days, and I really need the cash. The State Legislature hasn't passed the budget yet, and so the school won't issue my student aid."
"You might try the sperm bank?" she shrugged, and closed the sliding glass window.
Sperm bank. He had tried, and got rated 4F. Too fucking short. Too fat (20%bodyfat). Too fucking stupid (IQ under 130). Too fucking average. They did offer him a $50 finder's fee if he could get a genius, jock or other superior person to donate. All that had gotten him was a punch in the face, and a knee to the groin when he'd walked up to the star quarterback in the bar to ask him. Afterward, he realized his mischosen words sounded kinda like a pick up line. The weird thing was he seemed like he was going to say yes, until he saw the expressions on his football buddies' faces. Then wham, pow. Jason's hand rose to his still tender jaw.
He glanced at the ad. 1313 was right next door. What did he have to lose?
He opened the door and walked right into Dirk Russell the quarterback who'd clobbered him.